


like silver scrapes in May

by blackkat



Series: MerMay Drabbles [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Awkward Flirting, Humor, M/M, MerMay, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “He’s crying, is that normal?” Tup asks worriedly, peering over the edge of the rock as the incoming tide rolls over them. “I didn’t think humans usually cried when they were looking at crabs.”
Relationships: Dogma (Star Wars)/CT-5385 | Tup, Mace Windu/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: MerMay Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727092
Comments: 32
Kudos: 641





	like silver scrapes in May

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Tup/Dogma - Tup is a mer and Dogma is a marine biologist big on conservation who has no idea what to do with having a mer around and looking really hot and scaring away the endangered crabs please I need them for my dissertation

“He’s crying, is that normal?” Tup asks worriedly, peering over the edge of the rock as the incoming tide rolls over them. “I didn’t think humans usually cried when they were looking at crabs.”

“Only when the crabs pinch them, I think,” Fives says distractedly, entirely preoccupied with the bag he’s riffling through. Tup thinks about protesting, but—it’s usually better that Fives has something to occupy himself with. Besides, this is a mer beach; if people want to keep their things out of reach, they shouldn’t bring them in the first place.

The one exception seems to be the man on the shore, who’s crouched over the crabs there, delicately picking them up to weigh them, scribbling on a pad, and then putting them down again. He looks stressed, tense, and Tup kind of wants to drag him into the nearest kelp bed, wrap him in soft things, and hug him until he stops looking so pale.

Then again, he’s human. Being that far underwater would probably be equally stressful for him. Tup sighs in resignation, then glances at the jewel he carried up from the sea floor with him, running his fingers over the sand-worn edges and then holding it up to the light. It glows a bright, clouded red, one of the rarest shades, and it’s one of Tup's proudest finds.

“You're sure you want to give that to him?” Fives asks, abandoning the bag on top of the rock and sliding over to take a closer look at the jewel. “You could buy a _reef_ with that.”

“I don’t need a reef, I just want to make him smile,” Tup says honestly, and ignores Fives's gagging noises. Honestly, Echo just has to smile at him and he’s just as bad. 

“That guy’s been here every day for two months, looking at those crabs,” Fives says. “And he doesn’t even seem to _like_ them. I don’t think _anything_ can make him happy at this point.”

“Something can, I'm sure,” Tup says determinedly, and pushes away from the rock, letting the next wave carry him up towards the beach. Behind him, Fives groans something longsuffering, but Tup ignores that too, catching the edges of a rock that juts out over the sand and hauling himself up in a smooth surge of muscle. His tail is long enough that most of it still curls in the water, the sunlight on the surface fracturing color across the blue scales, an oil-slick of color apparent. Tup's always loved his scales, loved the colors that reflect in his long hair, and he’s had plenty of mers think they were pretty, but—

Dogma flicks him one startled glance, then jerks his eyes back down to the crabs, and Tup feels a sharp jab of disappointment. Apparently it’s not the same for humans. Then again, Tup's first meeting with Dogma was when he thought Tup, sunning himself beneath the water, was an oil slick. Maybe that kind of impression sticks around.

“How are the crabs today?” Tup asks politely, leaning over. The sun casts his shadow across the sand, and several of the crabs scurry desperately for the water, making Tup roll his eyes. They're dumb. If he was going to eat them, he wouldn’t let them see him coming. And besides that, they don’t even taste good.

But _Dogma_ seems to care that they're leaving. As the first three skitter under the waves, he jerks like he’s going to lunge after them, making a wounded sound as they disappear. “ _No_ ,” he says, distressed. “No no no, I need you, come back—”

Tup eyes the red jewel, then the water. With a sigh, he tucks it in the crook of his arm, then tips forward off the rock and drops into the shallow water. It’s the work of an instant to snatch up all three crabs, and with a flick of his tail he squirms up onto the sand, even though it’s an _incredibly_ undignified motion.

“Here,” he says, and dumps them in Dogma's lap. “You know they don’t taste good at all, right?”

Dogma gives him a horrified look, even as he clutches the crabs close. “You _eat_ them?” he demands. “But they're endangered!”

Tup blinks at him. “I don’t eat them, they _taste bad_ ,” he repeats. “Why do you need to count them, anyway? The numbers don’t change that much. They all live here, so they won't leave.”

“That’s the point,” Dogma says, frazzled. “I'm—I have to keep track of them, my advisor _said_ I can't have any more fluctuations in my data that are outside normal limits and he’s _right_.”

Tup doesn’t understand any of that. But clearly it means a lot to Dogma, so he flicks his tail up, lets the long coils block the crabs from getting back to the sea, and picks up the jewel he brought.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I know I've brought you a lot of these, but—red is rare. I thought you might like it.”

Dogma gives him a narrow look, but when Tup offers it to him, he carefully picks it up from his palm. “Sea glass,” he says, and smiles just a little. “You really like this stuff, don’t you? I think this is the tenth piece you’ve given me.”

“I like making you smile more,” Tup says, and then realizes it half a second too late to stuff the words back into his mouth. He freezes, eyes widening, and gives Dogma a panicked look.

For Dogma's part, he looks a little like Tup just slapped him in the face with one of his beloved crabs.

Oh, _seas_.

“Sorry, I need to go!” Tup says, high-pitched, and flings himself back towards the water. He only just manages to avoid a belly-flop, ducks under the surface, and shoots back out towards the open ocean, hoping that the arctic water in the deep will cool his burning face.

(Dogma drags himself back to campus with his head still spinning, his heart thumping a little too fast in his chest. He should definitely go back to his computer, enter all of his data, and finish up for the day, but instead his feet take him down to the edge of the river where it spills into the sea. The rowing crews are out, but so is a much more welcome face, and Dogma throws himself down beside Wolffe, hardly managing more than a distracted nod at his boyfriend.

“I think a mer has a crush on me,” he says, dazed.

On Wolffe’s other side, Mace raises a brow, and Dogma carefully does not look at Wolffe’s jacket draped over his shoulders, or the shark-tooth necklace that Wolffe is wearing that was definitely a gift from Mace. “Any mer in particular?” he asks dryly.

“The one that keeps crashing your research?” Wolffe asks, amused, like he isn't running his fingers up and down Mace's deep violet scales. Dogma has to look away and swallow, because all he can think of is _Tup's_ scales, and the beautiful, shifting sheen of them, blue to violet to green.

“Yes,” he says, and distracts himself by digging into his bag. It’s—it’s stupid, but he’s been keeping all the sea glass that Tup brings him. He just can't bring himself to throw it away. “He, uh. He brought me another one today. And he said he…”

He can't say it. Can't even _think_ it without his face getting hot.

“Sea glass?” Wolffe says, bemused, as he leans over to look at it. He glances back at Mace, tilting his head, and asks, “Courting gift?”

Dogma splutters, turning as red as a boiled lobster. “ _Wolffe_!” he hisses at his cousin. Wolffe is _clearly_ a chemistry professor, because he’s the _worst_.

Mace snorts, reaching over Wolffe to pick up the red glass Tup brough today. “ _Expensive_ courting gifts,” he says, and gently sets it back down. “With those, you could buy a good third of the nearest reef and still have enough left over to live on.”

Dogma chokes, can't breathe. Sea glass if _currency_ to mers? And Tup is just _giving_ it to him? “But—” he starts.

“Suck it up,” Wolffe says without sympathy. “Clearly he likes you. Tell him you like him back already.”

“You don’t know that!” Dogma protests. “ _I_ don’t even know that!”

Wolffe rolls his eyes skyward, and Mace snorts quietly. “Yes, we do,” he says dryly. “Focus less on your crabs and whatever Krell is making you do. Your dissertation will be fine. You can spare one afternoon to smile at a mer who likes you.”

Dogma buries his face in his hands and _groans_. But—

Maybe it’s not the worst idea he’s ever heard.)


End file.
